


Mark of my Obsession, Marked for my Possession

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Desk Sex, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn Trevelyan, Herold of Andraste and Inquisitor is head over heals in love with the Commander of her amred forces, ex-templar Cullen. And there is nothing she loves more than that little scar slicing through his lip; Maker, she could spend the whole day just licking it.<br/>Cullen, fortunately has NO problem with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark of my Obsession, Marked for my Possession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enchant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchant/gifts).



**Exclusive to Ao3, for my darling Enchant, that managed to awaken my muse. Darling, enjoy!**

 

“Won’t you tell me?”

Cullen straightened from his work slowly, moving his neck form one side to the other to get the cricks out, then turned over his shoulder and offered the Inquisitor a small smile.

“Inquisitor,” he acknowledged her, his warm hazel heating even more with what she recognised as fondness and tenderness.

She sauntered closer, eyeing the messenger standing in attention at the door with a small annoyed look. She hadn’t’ even noticed the man standing there, but then again when Cullen was in a room her attention seemed to gravitate to him and him alone. He just had that effect on her, pulling everything in her to him like a magnet; her heart, her body, her mind. She shivered a bit as soon as she was close enough for his masculine scent and the body heat coming off him in waves to hit her; her nostrils flared and she almost closed her eyes on a little longing sigh.

The corner of Cullen’s lip went up a notch, and damn him if it wasn’t the corner with that incredibly sexy scar slicing through the perfection that was his mouth. Another delighted little shiver went through her, remembering how that little imperfection had felt on her own lips- perfect, just like his taste, just like the masculine little moan that had escaped him when she’d run her tongue over it.

If it was up to her that would be her new favourite pastime- licking the scar on Cullen’s lip, just so she could hear him moan.

Cullen dragged his attention from her with a clearly embarrassed cough, the messenger catching his eye again. The man had a smirk plastered on his face that made the Commanders’ hackles rise-rumours were already flying about his relationship with the Inquisitor. He growled under his breath.

“That will be all,” he dismissed the man, then turned to the Inquisitor with an exasperated huff.

“Tell you _what_ , Inquisitor?” he asked, keeping his voice as professional as possible when all he wanted was to reach out for her, pull her lithe body flush to his and kiss her for about a week. And then push her on the table again, but this time bending her over, so he could...

He shook his head to stop the errant thoughts from getting away with him, noting that the messenger was still there, and turning to him with a seething, narrowed-eyed look. The man quickly wiped the knowing smirk from his face and took a few steps back.

“Shall I bring you the report back once I make the corrections, Commander?” he stuttered, then reached behind him for the door handle once both the Commander and the Inquisitor pinned him with a rather threatening stare.

“Right, then...” he mumbled. “I’ll just...slip it under the door.” He turned on his tail and was out of the door with the next breath, and Evelyn was reminded of the messenger Cullen had growled at before kissing her for the first time and chuckled under her breath.

“One of these days,” she winked at Cullen, “all your messengers will go on a strike to demand that you stop growling at them.”

Cullen’s eyes twinkled as he bent his head towards her. “Then they should learn not to come between me and my Lady,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as his lips hovered inches from hers, “especially when I haven’t seen her for days and all I want is a kiss.”

She just couldn’t help herself. Going up on her tiptoes, she ran her tongue over the scar on his lip, flicking it lovingly. She was rewarded with one of Cullen’s throaty moans that she had come to love so much, that husky, breathless groan that made the blood in her veins sizzle with heat.

Two large hands came to rest on her hips as Cullen stepped in and brought his muscular frame inches from her. “Maker’s breath,” he sighed, a tremor of want and longing rocking him. “I love it when you do that.”

“Tell me how you got that scar and I promise to lick it all night long.”

“And if don’t?” he smiled his one-sided little smirk, the one that made the scar stretch and become even more pronounced.

“I’ll just have to lick it anyway,” she admitted defeat, unable to stop herself from caressing it with the tip of her moist little tongue again, before drawing his lip in her mouth and lightly nibbling on it.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” he moaned, sucking her bottom lip in his mouth in retaliation, before ruthlessly claiming her mouth in a kiss that made her knees buckle and her heart beat like a drum in her chest. Maker, but he tasted like the best of everything, like sunshine and spring, and life and love and safety. She moaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck as tightly as she could, almost trying to climb up his body, hanging on to him like a limpet. His hands moved to cup her ass, squeezing the pert flesh even as the pressure of his lips and the hunger of his kiss bent her backwards, arching her body into his own. The angle was perfect for Cullen’s mouth to slide down the creamy column of her bared throat, licking a path of devastation down an area that always made her purr with pleasure.

“I hope a kiss wasn’t all you wanted,” she panted, her fingers clutching at his broad shoulders under the softness of his pauldrons, and he hummed against the tender flesh of her neck, still nibbling and licking along her pulse point.

“All I had time for,” he groaned. “But the rest of the world...”

 “...can go hang,” she finished his sentence.

“ _Wait_. I was going to say _it can wait_.”

 “Cullen. Damn it, if you don’t get me on this desk in the next ten seconds...” she threatened darkly, a shuddering moan escaping her, her whole body on fire with want.

A smile broadened his lips, darkly male and heartbreakingly tender at the same, before he pecked a small kiss on her mouth again and sighed. “We really don’t have time...”

She interrupted his words with another slow, seductive drag of her tongue over the notch on his lip; something inside her screamed with feminine pride at the strangled, tortured moan that rumbled in his chest. She repeated the caress, before grabbing his lip between her teeth and pulling slightly on it, the tip of her tongue flicking his scar.

“Damn you,” Cullen growled. In a flash, he turned her over and bent her over the desk, then grabbed the hem of her robes and pulled it upwards, until they were pooling around her waist and all that separated them was the already wet fabric of her smalls.

She squealed with delight and surprise, instinctively wiggling her hips as the cold assaulted her flesh and she heard another tormented moan escape the man behind her.

“What will your messengers say if they see us like this?” she chuckled, half out of breath with mischief and excitement, as she heard him fiddling with the laces of his trews behind her.

She chuckled again as he tensed behind her then let out a frustrated, embarrassed groan, before swearing under his breath. It was so endearing, so damned hot, how this man that could be passionate and possessive one minute could be awkward the next, blushing and fumbling. She shot him a look over her shoulder, her eyes soft and languid and full of love.

“Tease,” he relaxed and stared back at her, his mouth twitching with an expression that did its best to be chastising – but failed. One hand caressed down the curve of her buttock, his eyes trailing after it with a hungry, longing look. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice awed.

She wiggled her hips again.

“Stop kissing my ass, and DO kiss my ass.”

She had only intended to tease him, maybe shock him a little just to see that boyish blush paint his cheeks, but she’d never thought he’d actually obey her. She squealed in delight as he trailed open mouthed kisses down the satiny flesh of one buttock, his hand pushing her lags apart to touch her softly and find her womanly flesh already drenched and hot for him.

“Cullen!” she couldn’t help but gasp when his mouth trailed even lower and he used both hands to open her up to his ravenous gaze.

“So beautiful,” he moaned again, then his tongue was sliding through her slickness, flicking at the entrance of her sex, drawing in the cream that had escaped her with a deep sound of enjoyment purring against her flesh. A shocked sigh escaped her that built into a deep, throaty moan. His name became a chant as she writhed on the table, his big hands holding her steady and open to the assault of his talented tongue; she could swear she could feel the slight harshness of that beloved scar on her most tender flesh, and the thought that when she next licked it she’d be able to taste herself on it was a like someone had lit a fire inside her, burning her from the inside out.

“Oh, Cullen! Please!” Unable to handle the torment of his caress anymore, she pleaded with him, begging her with her whole body to take her, longing to feel him inside her again. With one last, long, decadent slide of his tongue over her flesh, he obeyed her, taking one last minute to shock her out of her mind when he flicked his tongue over the puckered opening of her ass.

“Cullen!” she gasped, shocked that her shy ex-templar could be so bold, but only his chuckle answered her.

“You _did_ ask me to kiss your ass, Inquisitor,” he rumbled, his voice a husky, heated caress against her senses. “As your Commander, I am forced to obey.”

“Then tell me how you got that scar.”

“Later,” he promised, bending over her possessively and entangling his hand in her hair to pull her back for an awkwardly slanted kiss.

The contented, breathless sigh that escaped her as soon as his mouth took her turned into a grunt of pleasure and pain as he found that exact moment to push his impressive length inside her, conquering the resistance of her tight sheath with one long, steady thrust. Her whole body tensed, struggling to adjust; he was almost too large for her, large enough to bruise. But what a wonderful soreness it was!

She keened her distress and her pleasure in his mouth and he moaned at the impossibly tight, hot fit, at the vice-like grip on his flesh. “Relax,” he crooned to her. “Don’t fight it.”

She licked his lip to distract herself, loving the sound of pleasure that escaped him and the tremor that raced down his muscular frame. “This is so good,” she moaned, arching backwards, desperate for him to start moving and grateful that he didn’t at the same time. “Maker, Cullen, you’re so big. So hot.” She wiggled her hips against his groin. Knowing how it affected him when she used his title on him, she arched even further back. “Commander” she purred, feeling the desperate tightness of her body easing as her flesh heated even more and wetness gushed to coat the rock-hard intruder. “Cullen. Commander, Ser. Please.”

Another broken moan escaped him. “For Maker’s sake,” he groaned, “I’ll lose it. Don’t torture me.”

She managed to chuckle even despite the frustration and mounting need building inside her. “Lose it,” she urged him. “Oh, please, _please_ lose it.”

“I hurt you the last time,” she could hear him gritting his teeth behind her, desperately trying to hold on to his fraying control.

“First time,” she reminded him, pushing back against his hips, taking him just a few fractions of an inch deeper. “Won’t hurt this time. Do I need to beg?”

He bit back a curse. “No need,” he groaned.

She was expecting a fast and furious pace after all this teasing and pleading; the bone-deep trembling of his muscles and his panting breath indicated she could expect nothing else. But once again, her Commander surprised her with how tender and careful he was with her, with how every thrust inside her was like a religious experience for him. Awed, reverent, worshiping. She was once again floored with how lovingly and softly his flesh possessed hers, with the soft, breathless little nothings he crooned into her ear, with how patient and focused on her pleasure he was, even though she could sense the tension in his big body, even though every corded muscle was trembling and screaming in strain.

Love swelled in her heart, making the pleasure of his thrusts even stronger, even more potent. She screamed his name, headless of who might be hearing her, chanted endless love words and breathless pleas as his rod slowly dragged inside her, filling her to the point of distress before slowly withdrawing.

Her breath was sawing in her lungs as he slowly and inexorably pushed her higher and higher still, his control as rigid as the hard length filling her . She keened in distress; Maker, she wasn't going to survive the drop, it was going to kill her. The whole of Skyhold would hear her when she came, she was certain of it, but couldn’t bring herself to care. She could only hope one of his ever-interrupting messengers wouldn’t barge in, because she wouldn’t be able to even care; she’d happily just lay there, being taken on this desk, not giving a fuck even if people paid tickets to see them.

He seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because his large, calloused hand climbed up from her shoulder to cup her mouth just as with a shuddering, ear-splitting screech she came hard, her whole body arching of the desk and bucking against him. She felt his whole body shudder like an earthquake hit him as her tight sheath clamped down like a vice around his rod, milking his length, dragging his own orgasm out of him. Another wave of brain-frying pleasure washed over her as she felt the scalding heat of his release inside her; long, blistering spurts of his seed coating her insides, dragging her pleasure out.

He collapsed against her with a drawn out moan, shuddering like a stallion, his heart beating like a drum against her back. His weight was pushing her down on the hard desk, but she didn't care; she loved his weight on top of her, the feeling of his sweat-slicked body, the musky scent of aroused male.

“You know,” she drew in a few convulsing breaths, “I hear some people actually do this on a bed.”

“Preposterous,” he sighed against the back of her neck, a small chuckle ruffling the fine hair of her nape.

“Will you tell me how you got that scar now?” she smiled, laying her forehead on the hard wood, loving how he couldn’t bring himself to move from inside her and on top of her.

He chuckled. “You are relentless.”

“The Circle Tower?”

“No,” he slid his tongue up her neck, until it reach her ear, where he took his time licking and suckling her lobe.

“Kirkwall?”

“Not Kirkwall either.”

“Where then? Then Conclave?”

He laughed, the sound making her insides feel warm and mushy. Maker but she loved his laugh, that boyish chuckle, so rarely heard as to be precious.

“Promise not to laugh?” he pulled away from her with a small sigh, then hauled her back on her feet and turned her around to envelop her in one of those bear hugs that threatened to splinter her bones and made her feel so safe and protected.

She kissed the corner of his mouth and then lightly licked his scar again, contented and boneless, purring like a kitten at his taste.

“I promise nothing,” she chuckled. “Just tell me.”

“I cut myself shaving.”

Later that day, the rumours going around the Keep were of loud screams and moans coming out of the Commander’s office-but that wasn't surprising. With fond and amused smiles on their faces, Cullen’s men remarked on the happy, joyous laughter that had filled the usually solemn office for hours later.

For once, Cullen heard the gossip, but didn't cringe; instead, he smiled widely, bushed just a bit, and ran his finger along the scar on his lip with a far-away, dreamy look in his eyes.

* * *

 


End file.
